The Tapestry of Life
by W.Blackbird
Summary: Padme and Anakin are alone for the first time since Geonosis, and a life-changing decision is to made. Sequel to Follow One Thread, but you don't have to read that one to understand this fic.


A/N: This is for Pattes_de_Fruits, a.k.a. Klorophile on Tumblr, who read Follow One Thread, and wanted the sequel which was, in her words, "the YES after the No." Also, this may technically be AU. Oh well...

Prompt: Destiny

The tension between the not-couple could have been cut with a sneeze, let alone a butter knife. Padmé is acutely aware this is the first time in two weeks she and Anakin have been alone together. It doesn't help this awareness is found as he's escorting her to her chambers at the palace down an isolated corridor with low-lighting which somehow just seems to enhance the ambiance, the ambiance they definitely aren't speaking of. They aren't speaking of anything, in fact, but Padmé feels certain she cannot be the only one to feel this…tension. Nor does she think she is the only one to feel the sense of anticipation, dread, and coming finality: The approaching of a decision of significance. This tension stems from the fact this is the first time they've been alone since Geonosis, the first time since Padmé told Anakin what had been her most guarded secret. She loves him.

She had thought they were going to die. It's the only reason she had told him. They were going to die; it had seemed inevitable they would die, which had placed a burden upon her insisting she must tell him, because he simply could not die, his beautiful light could not be extinguished from this galaxy, without him knowing how greatly he was cherished, how sacred his existence was if only to her. It had seemed wrong in the deepest sense to not tell him he was beloved. He was her beloved. Who could say if it had been rational? It hadn't mattered really. They were going to die, but while Padmé feels the logic of her actions might be debatable, she knows the desire had sprung from something vital inside of her that had felt as ancient, and indomitable as creation: That was a realm which defied the rational or the irrational; it was existence. She had had to tell him. They hadn't died though. It had seemed crazy they could survive. She hadn't known there was a clone army, hadn't believed the Jedi would get there in time anyway, but now they had survived, and she couldn't take her words back. Padmé isn't sure if she wants to or not. They had not died, but Anakin is going off to war after this assignment anyway. It can't hurt for him to know. He could still die. Hadn't that been the point? Surely the same not-logic applied, but somehow it felt different, probably because his demise is not guaranteed which left the words just hanging between them, drawing taut, creating tension, a thread to bind them.

The Naboo have long known the power of words. They have the power to destroy and to save. All that is known is known through words, is explained through words. What is said can even distort the action taken. There is a Basic expression that goes "Actions speak louder than words," but there is no such phrase on in her mother tongue. The Naboo know that even the most powerful actions can be distorted with time and the right wordsmith. Words are powerful and very, very dangerous, not to be thrown around lightly. Despite how innocuous, even common, they might seem, "I love you" was a powerful phrase indeed. They are words she can not take back, and words make things real. You speak, and you create. There is an analogy which is that a cat could be locked in a box with poison until the moment of death, but it would be dead and alive simultaneously until the box is opened, and one or the other is observed. The state of being only exists when observed. It is used as a means to show the futility of quantum mechanics past a certain point, (the cat is dead whether you see it or not), but it is entirely applicable to words. When Padmé keeps her feelings to herself, they remain present, and non-existent, dead and alive. Now that she has spoken them, she brings forth their existence. It is a truly living creature now. It cannot be dead. There is no undoing it, no hiding it, no taming it. It is done. It is now real. It is real, because she said it. Words create. The process is not reversible, and she has torn through her own armour. Words are dangerous tools. She should know. She's been in politics long enough.

The problem is nothing has really changed for the better. They are at war now, but she is still a senator, a well-known, high profile, royal one at that; he is still a Jedi. It isn't so much the end of her career that bothers her too much anymore, as terrifying as that admittedly is; she'd have to leave the Senate anyway if she wanted a family. The Military Creation Act is certainly something of a moot point now too, but Anakin could be expelled. That is the greatest fear on the horizon. It's the reason they haven't been alone in weeks, because the Jedi know. They suspect how they feel for each other. Obi-Wan had been sent to her by Yoda to tell her in no uncertain terms that any romantic relationship must be terminated. She'd told him he needn't worry. The subject had come up while on Naboo, and she'd turned him down flat. It had already been taken care of. It had been the truth. The best lies are always careful truths, and Obi-Wan had agreed that Anakin would escort her back to Naboo where her security team-with her new handmaidens, and new ship-were waiting. Prudently, Obi-Wan'd requested a diplomatic ship, complete with a pilot, and co-pilot, making it clear Obi-Wan didn't trust the two alone, but hoped they'd clear things up between them once and for all. In other words, end the relationship, (which didn't exist), but neither she nor Anakin had felt comfortable bringing the subject up with others around. Neither one of them had wanted to ruin what might be their last moments together. The only thing she had done was hug Anakin, and tell him she didn't care about his right arm, as long as he was alive and well. That was what mattered. She had told him quietly about the Jedi; he'd known anyway. He'd quietly told her he was sorry she'd been put in that situation, but he still wasn't too worried about expulsion; she'd said it was her fault for acting so obvious when he'd been injured…and they'd talked about nothing else of true importance afterward. Now, they were here, stuck.

Padmé finds herself walking slower, and slower as the destination approaches. She feels like she is walking through custard. It's hard for her to move, but she is also moving too quickly. She wants to preserve this moment she has with Anakin; it might well be her last. She is aware of every echoing footstep, of every breath she takes, of every breath he takes, and of how very, very close they are, but never close enough.

"Here, Ani."

They have reached her private rooms. He nods, and walks her over to the door. Turning to look up at him, she finds him looking down at her. There's an expression on his face she has never seen before. It is awe, and admiration, and pain, and raw, wrenching grief, all focused on her. He seems to be trying to memorise her, to take her all in before he turns his back, before he never sees her again. Padmé recognises it, because she is looking at him the same way, watching the contours of light and shadow on his face, the dark blonde of his hair, the piercing blue eyes…

Anakin sucks in a deep breath, steps back, and nods again.

"Senator, I'll take my leave."

She nods vaguely, words catching in her throat, although she does not know what words they are, as he turns stiffly on one heel to head down the hallway where he will be lost from sight in the darkness to war. As he walks, she feels her heart swell with the pain of love. It is almost as if she can feel the connection, the tension of the thread that ties her heart to his being pulled taut, as her heart strains after him. She can feel the thread like a visceral, physical thing. It pulls her heart more and more with every step Anakin takes away from her, causing it to swell larger with the ache of separated love. If it keeps tugging, it will pop the balloon in her chest, her heart will burst, and the connection will snap. It will be torn, and then where will she be?

"Anakin," she gasps. The sound comes unbidden. It had never been a word trapped in her throat, but a name, the name, his name, the most important name in this universe: Anakin. In the hallway she sees him pause. His back stiff. He looks almost like he anticipates a blow. "I can't watch you walk away twice. It'll destroy me."

She would have laughed at the irony were the moment not so grounded in intensity. Once she had claimed that to be with him would be the destruction. Who knows? Maybe it will be. It almost certainly will have consequences, but she had told him on Geonosis she felt that their lives were "about to be destroyed anyway." She doubted she was wrong. War won or lost brought devastation. May she not choose her on demise? She laughs internally as she remembers Ithané, the goddess of war and of love. Padmé had been wary of the dangers of passion, and the dangers of being ruled by it. She had never considered losing love might be just as destructive. She knows one truth now: That either option, to have Anakin or to not, will come at a high price, and she would rather be destroyed by her fire than by her ice. War is here now, and she wants the equal strength of her love to see her through it. They will burn together, but Anakin has not turned. He's still, like a predator, or prey. Is there a difference now? So, she adds,

"If you're suffering as much as I am, please tell me."

She feels the greatest admiration for him: How courageous to have made himself so vulnerable to her that night! She has an idea of how much she must have hurt him now, and he has never once held it against her. He had honourably accepted her decision, and loved her anyway. She doesn't deserve such devotion, but she craves him. He turns around, and looks at her. There is dim hope in his eyes.

"Do you mean that?" he whispers. "I mean, yes, I do feel the same. I always have. I just...Do you really mean that?"

She smiles at him. He hesitantly walks over to her.

"Yes, Ani, I mean it. We can keep it a secret for now. You haven't even been knighted yet-" She was not going to take his career from him. She was not going to chain someone who was meant to fly. She'd sacrifice her reputation, and career first, if it must come to that "-and we're both needed at the moment, you especially, but, yes, Ani, yes."

The light in his eyes goes from dim blue to blazing azure, and he moves so quickly she couldn't have seen it, but he was kissing her so she didn't care. They've never kissed like his before. Well, they have only ever kissed twice. She buries her hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, and grips so hard she must hurt him. It doesn't matter though, because he is gripping tight too, and the pain is its own pleasure, because nothing could draw them close enough-

-which brings a thought to her mind that has her moving one hand to open the bedroom door behind her as she pulls him through.

She isn't sure where this falls in the spectrum of "follow one thread," as her grandmother had been so fond of saying, but she feels she has tied the string of her fate to Anakin's. If she is following any thread, it is his, because they are tied together now. He will also follow hers. It might be much harder to follow two threads, even if they are joined into one, but they will also be much stronger. There will be that much more impact, and meaning, and they will need each other's strength in the time to come. The timing of these events is so uncanny, Padmé can't help but feel the guiding hand of destiny. This connection has always been there between them. She had felt it even as a teen on Tatooine, when he had taken her hand to guide her through the storm. Certainly, Anakin had known it, had always known it, and been far more honest with it than she: Their lives had always been weaved together. This knowledge is an enduring truth, and that is why it had felt agonizing to cut the thread. Whether it is the will of the Force, as Ani believes, or the Mornae like she's been taught, to deny Anakin is to oppose the tapestry of life.


End file.
